


No Orchids for Miss Hooper

by Woaf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And a barbecue.....not necessarily in that order!, F/M, Flowers, Lestrolly, Mollstrade, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9503690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woaf/pseuds/Woaf
Summary: In which Greg is trying not to be a tosser, and Molly becomes a woman on a mission.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Something New](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9462749) by [isortoflikeit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isortoflikeit/pseuds/isortoflikeit). 



> All errors are mine. I have no title over the characters.
> 
> Not quite sure if this is self-contained and is all there is, or whether it will eventually form part of a longer piece. I just can't get enough of Greg Lestrade!!
> 
> There's definitely some subliminal influence on me from "Something New" by isortoflikeit, for which I am grateful.
> 
> There's a lapse of time (weeks? months? years? who knows?) between chapters one and two.

Greg Lestrade sighed and snapped his laptop shut in frustration.  As with most internet research, if you didn’t already know the answer, all you ended up with was differences of opinion, variations, and confusion. So there was actually no “language of flowers”. There were many languages of flowers. Anyway, doing internet research was a scientist’s approach. It’s what Sherlock would have done. He was a scientist. And often a complete tosser. Specially where Molly was concerned.  Don’t approach this like a scientist, he told himself. Approach it like a….. like a what? He frowned as the phrase presented itself, a man in love. It felt ridiculous even to him, and he was the one who had thought of it! Sod this, he thought, and set off for the florist’s. 

  


He wasn’t going to choose flowers like a scientist. Like a tosser. He was going to choose them for Molly. For his beloved Molly. He walked purposefully into the shop and was greeted by the owner, a middle-aged woman with a superb figure, perfect hair and make-up, and a warm smile. She recognized immediately what kind of customer he was. She’d seen the type before. Not often, but she knew the look and was always touched by it.

“I’m not really sure what I’m looking for…….” 

She smiled at him again, “Take a couple of minutes and look at the colours. See if inspiration strikes.” 

She went back to the bow she had been making while Greg followed her advice and let his gaze roam over the flowers. The characteristic boyish grin suddenly lit up his face. 

“Found them?” the florist asked. “Yup,” he replied, pointing at a bunch of vivid red flowers, “those.” 

“Ah, the gerberas. Aren’t they lovely? Such a warm colour in this awful grey weather. How many would you like?” 

“Um,” he hesitated, “well one is a bit of a cliché, but I don’t want to be too……..” 

Having her original assessment confirmed, the florist suggested, “How about three in one of these?” She held up a clear plastic gift bag that doubled as a vase. “It can sit happily on a desk all day and it’s easy to carry home.” 

“Perfect!” Greg wondered how she knew. 

“Would you like to attach a card?”

“Something simple.” He followed her to the counter, where she picked out a plain piece of card, about the size of a business card, in the same shade of red as the flowers. 

“Perfect again!” Greg reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, took out a pen and wrote simply “For Molly”. 

The florist smiled again as she chose the prettiest blooms from the bunch. Lucky woman, she thought to herself.

  


**oOo**   


“Oh, did we forget your birthday?” asked John, noticing the flowers on Molly’s desk.  He was sure that Sherlock knew when Molly’s birthday was and was equally sure that it wouldn’t occur to “The Great Detective” (John couldn’t even _think_ the phrase without mental inverted commas!) to mention it in time for them to have got her a card.  The date was tucked away in a box in the dustiest corner of the furthest attic of Sherlock’s mind palace, to be unearthed only if it was relevant to the solving of a mystery.

Before Molly could answer, Sherlock went into full-on detective mode.

“No, it’s not Molly’s birthday.  They’re from an admirer.”  He picked up the card and looked at both sides of it.  “A secret admirer.  Anonymous card.  Written in ink.  Herbin Stormy Grey.  Expensive.  Mont Blanc pen.  Also expensive.  Italic nib.  Old school.  Neat writing, so he’s punctilious about communication.  Tiny wobble on the M indicates a strong physical attraction to Molly….” John raised an eyebrow quizzically, so Sherlock answered his unspoken question, “…probably the first time he’s written her name and his hand shook slightly.  He’s not sure if Molly’s interested in him.  Another reason for the wobble.  Also for the choice of flowers.  Cheerful but not overtly romantic.  Cheaper than roses, just in case he’s on the wrong track……”

“Sherlock!”  John interrupted the flow of deduction before Sherlock became really offensive, “Did anybody ask?”  Sherlock opened his mouth to tell John that Molly was dying to know the identity of her secret admirer, but John got there first, “Nobody asked, Sherlock.  Now shut up!”

Sherlock dropped the card carelessly onto Molly’s desk and walked over to the microscope.

And actually, Sherlock was wrong.  For the moment, Molly wasn’t dying to find out the identity of her secret admirer.  She got enough mystery.  This wasn’t about mystery, it was about romance, and heaven knew she got precious little of that.

 

**oOo**

**  
**

Molly had smiled all day and all the way home on the tube, carefully transporting the little bouquet and wondering who on earth could have sent them.  She was intrigued.  There was something vaguely familiar about the neat handwriting, but she was sure she didn’t know anyone who used a fountain pen.  And one with an italic nib to boot.

When she got home, she took the little bag into her bedroom and made a space for it on her dressing table.  She moved a lipstick.  The lipstick she had used only once, for the Christmas party.  As she picked it up, she realized that the flowers were exactly the same colour.  Now she was even more intrigued.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg Lestrade walked into the morgue and found Molly, Sherlock, John, and Mike Stamford all peering at a human brain in a large bowl.

“Ah, the usual suspects,” he greeted them.

“Did you want something?” asked Sherlock grumpily, walking to a nearby computer and staring pointedly at the screen.

“Yep, I’m having a barbecue on Saturday.  Kick off is about 12.30.  You’re all invited.”

“What’s the occasion?” asked Mike.

“Housewarming.”

Sherlock frowned behind the screen.  Housewarming?  Lestrade hadn’t moved house.  He’d have deduced it and there were no signs.  Boring anyway.  He started to tap the keyboard noisily.

“I didn’t know you’d moved,” John said, slightly bemused.

“I haven’t,” he replied, unable to hide a tiny version of the trademark grin as four confused faces looked at him.  “The divorce is final.  Turning over a new leaf.  Party before I redecorate.”

They all nodded in understanding until John broke the slightly awkward silence,

“Well, thanks.  Great.  We’ll be there.”  Sherlock looked across at him in horror, but John gave him a fierce look that said “Shut up!”

“The more the merrier.”

“I’ll be there,” said Mike.

“I’d love to come,” said Molly, smiling.  “Can I bring anything?  Salads, desserts?”

Greg smiled at her.  Lovely Molly, always so kind and thoughtful.

“There’s no need,” he said, “but if you want to, well, desserts aren’t my strong point.”

“No problem.  For roughly how many people?”

Kind, thoughtful and practical.

“About twenty.”

Sherlock groaned audibly.  Twenty people?  WAY too much stupid in the room.  Or in this case the garden.

**oOo**

 

Molly arrived at Greg’s house in a cab.  Although several of his guests had already arrived and were chatting in the garden, he was keeping an eye out for her.  He jogged out to the taxi, opened the door, and gave her his hand to help her out in a gesture of chivalry that would have looked forced from most men, but seemed to come entirely naturally to him.

“Hello!” she smiled up at him.

“Hello, Molly,” he said, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.  She was wearing _that_ lipstick.

He carried the bags into the kitchen and they put the desserts into Greg’s ‘fridge. 

“Mississippi Mud Pie for the chocolate fans, and Tiramisu aux Fruits Rouge for anyone who wants to get one of their five-a-day,” Molly quipped.

“Wow!  Thanks for making them.  It was really kind.”

They were both aware of something unspoken between them, but as they hesitated, each willing the other to speak first, the doorbell rang and Greg had to go and let in more guests.

 

**oOo**

 

The barbecue went really well.  Greg, it turned out, was an excellent host and knew how to put his guests at their ease and to keep the conversation flowing.

At about 6 p.m. it was approaching its natural conclusion and people started to leave.  Greg came back into the house after seeing people out and found Molly putting on her jacket,

“You’re not going already?”

“Sorry,” she said, “prior engagement.”

Greg assumed she was going out on a date and looked utterly crestfallen.  Molly reached out and touched his upper arm, running her hand down towards his wrist as she spoke, “I promised I’d take next door’s kids to see the new Disney film, and you can’t disappoint the under 10s!”

“Oh,” he sighed with relief, “well, of course.  In that case you really do have to go.”  Molly’s hand had reached his and, without realizing it, he had taken it in his and was holding it.

“I’ll pop round tomorrow morning to collect the dishes, if that’s okay.”

“More than okay,” he grinned, and her heart skipped a beat.  “About 10 o’clock?   I’ll make you coffee.”

Greg was still holding her hand and, as she moved to pull away from him, he lifted it towards his lips.  At the last moment he turned it slightly and put a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist.

A while later, after all his guests had left and Greg had tidied up the garden, he carried a tray of glasses into the kitchen.  There, on the windowsill, arranged in a neat row, were three beer bottles, each containing a red gerbera.

**oOo**

“Right on time,” Greg grinned and ushered Molly into the house.  “Coffee’s ready,” he added, leading her into the kitchen.

Unsure quite how to start the conversation he wanted to have with her, Greg busied himself pouring the coffee.  When he looked at her again, she was looking at the flowers on the windowsill.

“You knew,” he said quietly.

“I worked it out,” she replied, “eventually.”

“And you understand why I couldn’t…….. didn’t………..”

Molly nodded and looked very directly into those deep, deep brown eyes, “Because you’re an honourable man…..”

He sighed with relief that she understood so completely.

“….which is one of the reasons I love you.”  She stepped across the space between them and kissed him full on the lips.  Boldly, passionately.  He locked her in his arms and kissed her back, parting her lips with his tongue, exploring, tasting, delighting in the sensations he had dreamt of for so long, until the full meaning of her words suddenly hit him.  Love was not a word he used lightly, and he suspected that it was the same for Molly.  He tilted his head back to look at her, his eyes asking the question.

For a split second she panicked in case she had gone too far, but the tremble she could feel in him, so close against her, told her that it was all right.  Better than all right.  She set aside her hesitant self,

“Love you.  Yes.  Now take me to bed and let me show you how much!”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, wanted to do both, and ended up giving her the full Lestrade grin that she so adored and that made her heart dance with joy.

**oOo**

At the top of the stairs Molly asked, “Which is your room?”

Greg took her in his arms and held her close to his chest as he said, “Not there.  Not until it’s painted and …….different.”

She squeezed him to show that she understood that, too.

The grin was back, “there is a brand new bed in the spare room.”

He led her past the boxes and into a room where a pristine king size bed stood it all its glory, plastic wrapping thrown to one side where it had been unpacked to air the new mattress.

“Sheets?” Molly asked.

“Do we have to?”  Having waited so long for this, Greg was impatient, “I want you NOW!”

“We’ll be more comfortable….”

“Ever the practical one,” he interrupted, stroking his hands down her back and squeezing her bum in an attempt to distract her, but Molly was on a mission,

“Well, I intend to spend the rest of the day shagging your brains out and I’d quite like to be comfortable while I do it.”

Greg dashed off in search of clean sheets.

 

**oOo**

 

He was sprawled on his back with Molly astride him.  She wanted him inside her, but was teasing the tip of his spectacular erection by rubbing her slick clit to and fro across it.  She leaned down to kiss him, licking his lips, his tongue, tasting herself in his mouth.  She raised herself again and reached down to open herself to him, easing his length into her so slowly that she could feel every millimetre.  He pressed his head back into the pillow and closed his eyes, transported with delight, until he was fully enclosed in her warm, wet depths.  She didn’t move.

He opened his eyes and grinned up at her, “Comfortable now?”

“Well worth the wait,” she replied breathlessly as desire took over again and she began to move up and down on him.

“I won’t last long if you keep doing that,” he gasped.

She leaned down, putting a hand either side of his head, shifting her hips to a position giving more friction, guaranteed to break down his resistance.  She looked right into those breathtaking brown eyes,

“I don’t want you to be polite,” she said, her lips just touching his, “I want you to be overcome.”  She began to thrust against him faster,

“Oh, Molly!” he shouted grabbing her hips and pulling her down tight onto him as he was, indeed, overcome.


End file.
